


Two Days Clean

by WanderingSkis



Series: These Kids Need Therapy [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: High School, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Midnight Drive, Non-Consensual Touching, abusive foster parents, keith has a rough home life, lance is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27158512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSkis/pseuds/WanderingSkis
Summary: “I’m fine, Lance.” Keith shook the haze from his eyes, but he refused to look away from his lap. As always, he was glaring.It was very dark out. The stars were high in the sky, all glittering, but looking more muted than that night Lance and Keith had stumbled upon each other in the park. Muted like Keith’s eyes now. What had happened to the eyes that watched the stars with wonder?“You keep saying that,” Lance said. “But I don’t think you mean it.”OR: Keith isn't as fine as he says he is
Series: These Kids Need Therapy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929571
Kudos: 28





	Two Days Clean

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, this one's a rough one...   
> Additional warning that this story features implied physical abuse and a very brief scene with nonconsensual touching (which is within asterisks if you would like to skip over it). Stay safe. 
> 
> And thank you for reading <3

Keith was two days clean when it happened.

Mark had been out at the bar, as per usual.

And that left Lucille home alone. With the alcohol. And her crippling sense of loneliness. And Keith.

Keith had come home late. Lately, he'd always come home late. But it wasn't like anybody actually noticed. Or cared. 

It was pretty much like any other night. Mark was gone. Lucille was not. Only this time, there were a whole lot of empty booze bottles scattered around the house, and they actually weren't Keith's for once - though his evidence he tended to leave hidden away in his room.

***

Keith walked through the front door with his chest held high and his shoulders up tall. The day, for the first time in the longest time, had genuinely been a good day.

Good enough that he actually mumbled out a quiet "Hey, Lucille" as he pulled the strap of his old and ratted backpack higher up on his shoulder and nudged the door shut behind him with his foot.

As he walked deeper into the house, Keith noted all the empty beer bottles littering the kitchen counter and the coffee table in the living room. 

His stomach began to churn as a sense of wariness overcame him.

"Keithhh," came the slurred response of Lucille, who, based on the piling evidence - the empty bottles, the slurred speech, the red flush of her face - was definitely intoxicated. She staggered up to him, clumsily placing her hands on his cheeks and trying her best to look him in the eye as she steadied herself. "You'reee...home...late, Keithth."

Keith didn't move, just stood there stiffly as Lucille looked at him with glassy eyes and with clumsy hands that grasped at his face, messily searching for something she couldn't seem to find. 

Her eyes looked out of focus, so so glossy yet out of focus. They were red-rimmed, and her pupils were constricted and her tawny hair fell messily onto her shoulders with little strands falling into her face. She was sweating profusely, little drops of perspiration pooling on her forehead. 

Looking at her now, Keith began to understand why Shiro hated it so much when he drank.

Soundlessly, Keith grasped Lucille's wrists and tried to remove her hands from his face, but like a bull, she wouldn't budge. Instead, she moved closer, pulling Keith into her by his face and resting her head on his shoulder, breathing into his neck as her hands grasped the back of his head. 

"Oh, Keithhh," she sighed, her voice slow yet shaking, "I missseddd yoou."

Keith didn't move. In fact, he stood stock still. Every joint and ligament in his body stiffened. His blood ran cold. She was too close. This was too close. The only person he ever allowed to get this close was Shiro, and even then it was only on a good day. Which was what this day had previously been. What the hell was happening to his good day?

Again, he tried to lightly push her away from him, but that only made her cling to him tighter, burying her face in his neck as her long nails dug through Keith's hair.

Keith stood stiffly and waited. He waited for the harsh slap of her engagement ring against his face. Waited for her to rip his hair out with furious fingers. Waited for the rough grasp of his wrist as she threw him to the ground and kicked him in the side. He waited for what had become a common occurrence whenever he came home to half their liquor supply emptied. He waited for it to come, so it could be done, and then it would be over with.

But the abuse didn't come. 

Instead, she continued to breathe into his neck, her warm breath causing goosebumps to prickle down Keith's back. 

She was too close.

It was then that he felt the prick of soft lips kissing lazily against his neck, and his nerves burned to life with icy panic. 

Keith began to squirm but she held him tightly, her lips locking onto his skin, sucking, biting, searing marks into his flesh as he struggled. His heart hammered in his chest, his pulse was running laps, his breaths came out in sharp, fast huffs, and he was stuck, he was stuck and he couldn't move and he couldn't breathe, and Lucille was biting him in the neck, she was _biting him in the neck_ , and he couldn't escape and her hands were moving lower down, they were trailing down his sides and holding him firmly in place, burning against his skin, and trapping him as her hands just dipped lower lower lower.

It was just as her long fingers found their way to his groin that he finally broke free. 

He sprinted away away away towards his room, his mind reeling and his pulse racing and he couldn't help but think about the Adderall in his backpack. 

He had been doing so good. He had been doing so so _good_.

***

Keith ambled into his room dropping his backpack somewhere between lumping his door shut and leaning his entire weight against it and dropping to the floor as his legs gave out and his breaths came out in hurried little gasps. 

He couldn't breathe. _He couldn't breathe_.

He sat there a moment, knees pulled up to his chest and quivering breaths struggling to steady themselves, before his trembling hands reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. 

Instinctively, his shaking fingers typed out Shiro's number, and he listened, heart pounding, as the dial tone rambled over and over in his ears. Shiro didn't pick up. 

Panic not even close to subsiding, Keith typed out the number again. And he waited. And waited. 

His ears were still ringing. He couldn't hear and he couldn't breathe and the room was shrinking and it was hot yet so so cold and he didn't know what to do. He just squinted his eyes tightly and listened listened listened as the phone droned on and on. 

Shiro needed to pick up. He _needed_ Shiro to _pick up_.

But Shiro didn't pick up.

His head fell back against the door and he grimaced as he felt the dreaded stinging in his eyes.

Breathe. He needed to _breathe_.

Looking hurriedly through his contacts, a single text and a name caught his eye. 

_Hey dude. Just wanted to make sure you were doing okay? I mean yeah like you seem like you know what you're doing or whatever but. I just wanted you to know that I'm here? If you ever need someone to talk to? So yeah. Just. Talk to me. If you ever need to. That's all._

Keith had never responded.

That had been sent to him days ago.

Yet he'd still never responded.

How would someone even respond to a text like that?

People didn't just do that, did they? Talking about feelings and personal shit like it was nothing? Reaching out like they actually cared? Not in Keith's world they didn't.

Still, he looked at the text and he looked at his situation and without another thought, he pressed dial. And it was barely even the third ring when Lance's stupid voice picked up the phone.

…

Lance would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised to see Keith’s name flashing across his phone screen, large and stark and _important_ , somehow.

He was so startled, in fact, that time had seemed to freeze for a moment as he just stared at his phone and at Keith’s name flashing boldly across it. Listened to his phone vibrating harshly against his bedside table with a sudden added weight to it. A certain heaviness.

Yet, he’d been quick to unfreeze his body, making things worse by snatching his phone and pressing accept on only the second ring. Stupid.

However, the damage was already done, so there wasn’t much he could do about it other than play it cool.

“Hellooo there, samurai,” he said in his most casually cool voice.

There was silence on the line, and Lance briefly wondered if this call had been a butt dial.

“Um…hello?”

Silence.

And then, “Can you come get me?”

Lance faltered. “W-what?”

“Please come pick me up.”

Lance’s eyebrows scrunched together, and the air around him stiffened. Keith sounded…not right. Sure, his voice never really had much emotional inflection in it, but now it sounded strained and harsh against what would have normally been peaceful silence.

“Uh, yeah,” Lance said, already beginning to sluggishly sit up in bed with folded eyebrows firmly in place, “yeah, I can come get you.” He clutched the phone tighter. He was now sitting at the edge of his bed, scanning the room for his shoes. “Where…where are you?”

“At my house.”

Keith’s voice sounded tinny through the phone, but it did nothing to mask his clipped tone. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.

“Okay, Keith,” Lance said. He spotted his bent-up sneakers sitting haphazardly in the corner of his room. “I’m on my way.”

He’d had to look up Keith’s address in the phonebook. Luckily, his mom’s crazy obsession with preserving written information in the wake of the new digital age had come in clutch.

Dressed in sweatpants and a tee-shirt with a ragged sweatshirt thrown haphazardly over his head, a blindingly bright _11:30 pm_ blaring at him from the dash, Lance was in his mom’s mini van heading west.

His vision looked a bit blurry and the streetlights burned holes in his eyes, making them water. It was too late for this.

But Keith’s voice through the phone still haunted Lance. Clearly, the guy wouldn’t’ve called Lance if he didn’t truly need something. So it wasn’t like Lance could just blow the guy off.

He hadn’t sounded hurt, that was a plus. Just scared. Or spooked. Needless to say, the words _Please come pick me up_ echoed hauntingly in Lance’s head the entire drive there.

…

When Lance pulled up in front of Keith’s driveway, Keith was already outside. Waiting for him. Nothing but his clothes and his ratty backpack clutched beneath pale fingers in a death grip.

Lance gave the boy a halfhearted wave, doing his best to mask the weariness on his face with a small, forced smile. Keith didn’t wave back.

As he sauntered towards the car, Lance examined his house. It looked like a two-story building. Pretty boxy. Pretty average looking. Not too small, not too big. There was much less clutter in the yard than at Lance’s house.

“Nice place,” Lance said as Keith opened the passenger door.

As expected, he didn’t reply. Just plonked down in the seat, sitting stiffly, even after he closed the door.

“Seatbelt,” Lance said, eyeing Keith’s untouched seatbelt.

He made no move to do anything of the sort.

“Seriously?” Lance said.

Keith grunted.

“Fine.”

Lance reached over Keith, yanking at the belt to wrap it around him, but as soon as he did so, Keith jerked. His stiff posture suddenly buckled, his arms and legs reaching out and thrashing to bat Lance away.

Instantly, Lance jerked back.

“ _Dude_ , what? It’s just a seatbelt.”

Keith said nothing, just crossed his arms, settling back into his stiff posture. His eyes looked guarded, more so than usual.

Lance leaned closer. Did his eyes look shiny?

“Are you…” Something sour curled up in Lance’s gut as he peered at Keith with serious eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you—”

“ _I said_ _I’m_ _fine_.”

Keith’s arms were still crossed tightly, his mouth curled into a scowl as he stared deliberately forward. _Yeah, sure. Totally fine._ Lance had never heard a bigger load of bullshit in his life.

They both said nothing after, a tension settling into the air as Lance pulled out into the road, watching in the rearview mirror as Keith’s house disappeared further and further into the distance.

It wasn’t until they were at least five blocks away that Keith finally relaxed into his seat. He still looked stiff, but he’d sunken in the chair, his legs spreading out more and his crossed arms loosening slightly.

“So…” Lance said, finally feeling the courage to break the stillness in the air now that the tension had faded slightly. “Where am I taking you?”

“Shiro’s.”

There was no hesitation.

“Shiro’s it is,” Lance said, already turning on his blinker to make the next right. Luckily, he knew where Shiro’s place was.

They were silent for a bit.

Until, surprisingly, _Keith_ broke the silence. “Your car is blinking.”

“Huh?” Lance looked down, and sure enough, the dashboard was blinking red.

“ _Dammit Veronica_ ,” he groaned. “We’re gonna have to pull over in a sec.”

Keith made no movements, but Lance could feel him side eyeing him.

“Sorry,” Lance said. “My sister always forgets to fill the tank after using it. We’re gonna have to make a pit stop at a gas station to fill up before Shiro’s, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” Keith said. His voice was deeper than usual, a bit harrowed.

…

It was when Lance and Keith sat silently in the car with the gas pump sticking out of the gas tank, when the stifling silence that filled the space in the absence of the distraction of driving became too suffocating, that Lance finally bit the bullet.

He turned towards Keith fully. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

The gas station was completely vacant. Only a weak flicker of light from the dingy convenience store reached them. Keith’s face looked shadowed, but the edges of his hair caught the weak light, tinged a warm yellow.

Keith was still. He made no motion to answer, but his gray eyes glazed over with distant thought.

“Keith?”

“I’m fine, Lance.” Keith shook the haze from his eyes, but he refused to look away from his lap. As always, he was glaring.

It was very dark out. The stars were high in the sky, all glittering, but looking more muted than that night Lance and Keith had stumbled upon each other in the park. Muted like Keith’s eyes now. What had happened to the eyes that watched the stars with wonder?

“You keep saying that,” Lance said. “But I don’t think you mean it.”

“Oh, what do you know about anything, Lance?” Keith’s tone sounded angry, but more than that, it sounded wounded. A bit broken. It sounded like the voice of a boy clinging desperately to anger in the place of anguish, like a boy putting all his strength into keeping himself from crumbling.

Keith’s eyes glared more fiercely into his lap, his frown deepened, his hands clenched tightly around his knees, but his eyebrows drew up. There was a mix of emotions on his face.

Lance looked closer. Squinted at the puzzle of a boy with furrowed brows. He noted the dark splotches of skin marring his neck. The scars on his cracked knuckles. The fading bruise that just barely peeked out from under his hair.

Lance’s eyes softened.

“Is everything okay at home, Keith?”

To his surprise, that triggered a response out of Keith. For the first time all night, Keith whipped his head to meet Lance’s eyes, and for the first time that night, Lance could really _see_ him.

He could see the misty glistening of his eyes. The redness that ringed them. There were no tears now. No, at the moment Keith’s eyes were dry. But it was clear he _had_ been crying. He had been crying a lot.

And that. That did something to Lance. To know that the boy who was all harsh edges and a sharp tongue, the boy who lived with a fight in his bones, the same boy who also lay alone at night to watch the stars, to know that boy had been crying, to know that something so terrible had happened to that boy to make him _cry_ , that punctured something in Lance. It gutted right through him. Keith’s eyes were dry, his brows were raised, his face was neutral, but it was all there. Never before had Keith’s eyes been so open. Never before had the boy looked so transparent.

A thin hand crept up, and long pale fingers brushed subconsciously against the blotches of painted skin at his neck.

But once Keith was over the surprise, he shook it away. His eyes hardened.

“I’m fine, Lance.”

…

Lance didn’t push it. Once the car filled up, he closed the cap, and off they went until they reached the warm lights of Shiro’s house. There wasn’t any room in the driveway, so Lance slowly pulled to a stop next to his mailbox.

He was honestly surprised the lights were on, but he guessed being a senior left Shiro with a lot of late nights to finish up schoolwork.

For a moment, they just sat there. Keith stared out the windshield. He didn’t seem to want to move quite yet. Lance didn’t mind.

“Shiro know you’re coming?”

Lance was staring out the windshield too. He found it hard to look at Keith, to see the truth in his eyes that contradicted the lies that left his mouth. He found it hard to know something that Keith didn’t want him knowing, to subsequently find himself helpless in the situation.

Lance stared forward, but from the corner of his eye, he saw Keith shift. A shrug.

“Shouldn’t matter.”

Keith must’ve sensed Lance’s confusion.

“I come unannounced a lot.”

Another shrug.

“Oh.”

Keith let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Thanks for the ride, Lance.”

The softness of Keith’s voice shocked Lance into turning his head to face him, and if Lance wasn’t shocked enough by his voice, he was damn dumbfounded to find Keith’s head already turned attentively towards him, deep, piercingly honest eyes pouring into him and melting his insides.

Lance swallowed.

“Any time, Keith.”

Lance wouldn’t exactly call what Keith’s face did next a _smile_. It was more like a very slight lifting of sadness. It wasn’t _happy_ , but it was less broken. A little grateful.

It was the last Lance saw of Keith’s face before he was opening the car door, and stepping out with his backpack clutched tight, leaving Lance to watch the back of his head as it disappeared down Shiro’s driveway and into the warmth of his house.

…

Keith was two days clean when Lance unknowingly saved him from breaking that streak.


End file.
